


Propelled or Compelled

by fauvistfly



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Jock Derek, M/M, Pining, Pining Derek, Pining Stiles, Skater!Stiles, jock!Derek, skater stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-05
Updated: 2014-04-26
Packaged: 2017-12-28 12:17:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/991912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fauvistfly/pseuds/fauvistfly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>**I added a second chapter to this fic**</p><p>Based on this prompt that I posted and then filled:</p><p>I need the Sterek fic where Stiles is the skater punk who’s really a good kid but always has a skateboard and sort of has a reputation, and Derek the All-American baseball player who has a great smile for the parents but is just not all that happy. And Stiles is always at the park in his flannel shirts, doing little tricks on his board to get his energy out, and Derek can’t help but notice because his shirt always flies up and gives him a glimpse of that fucking happy trail.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Has anyone ever seen Gleaming the Cube? There's a scene where Christian Slater's character (YES CHRISTIAN SLATER) gets really frustrated and spends some time in an abandoned parking garage doing tricks and messing around on his skateboard. That scene is what I envisioned while writing. 
> 
> Other than that movie and the crush I had on a skater boy in 8th grade, I know nothing about skateboarding.

Derek isn’t sure when casual observation becomes focused stalking, but he thinks he’s crossed that line when he realizes he’s been watching Stiles for almost an hour. He’s slightly hidden by a concrete pillar and a bush. It’s not creepy—it’s totally where someone might stop to tie a shoe or pause to wonder where that noise came from. And it’s where skaters come all the time—an abandoned parking garage with strategically placed concrete blocks and makeshift ramps? It’s not creepy at all. Besides, Stiles is listening to music—Derek can see the earbuds from his (not) hiding place—and has no idea Derek is watching, so who is it hurting, really? Plus, he’s interested in skating. Derek thinks it’s cool, that it takes a surprising amount of discipline and strength to master those tricks, so he’s just admiring. Wait, not admiring. Observing. For almost an hour. Shit.

The thing is, Derek has never seen Stiles skate, _really_ skate. Sure, he’s seen him around town with his skateboard in tow, rolling down a sidewalk or playing around while walking home with his best friend Scott, but it’s not the same. This stuff that Stiles has been doing (for yes, almost an hour, fuck) is on a completely different level. Derek doesn’t know what any of the moves are called, ollies or something with degrees or jumps. He just knows that the way Stiles moves, the way he grips his board with those large hands and glides gracefully on his board, is completely mesmerizing.

And when Stiles jumps a little, his shirt slides up and gives Derek a glimpse of a lean stomach and a happy trail that is dark and tempting. So Derek allows himself to watch, unhindered. He usually has to be a lot more surreptitious about the staring, since Stiles is the bad boy skater and Derek is the All-American baseball star. It’s bullshit, really. Stiles is the one who gets the grades (he’s always on the honor roll, usually with a star next to his name, not that anyone besides him notices) and is the one who stands up for the scrawny freshmen. Derek, with his Varsity jacket and good reputation with parents, is the one who scowls at everyone and ignores all attempts at friendship that are outside the circle of jocks who barely know him. It’s just that Derek, with all his good looks and athletic talent and ability to be unerringly polite, is actually not that nice of a person. Or rather, he doesn’t like sharing enough of himself to let people see that he’s a nice person. His sister Laura warned him that the world was not a nice place for jocks who prefer dick, and Derek is not good at halfway. He’s all or nothing, so trying to be friends with anyone who might not accept his attraction to guys or his unwillingness to leer at cheerleaders is just not in his personality. He’s not good at pretending, so he’d rather just perfect his monosyllabic responses and let people make up whatever they want about him. Amazingly, there are a lot of people who are really into that, into making Derek someone who has this awesome personality on the inside and are convinced that they are going to be the ones who crack open his shell. Whatever. Those people are crushing on a figment of their imaginations. Derek is just waiting to get out of this town so that he can start fresh.

In the meantime, he’ll just watch from afar. It’s enough, watching how much Stiles enjoys skating, the way he occasionally sings along or keeps trying the same move over and over again until he gets it right. The way his whole face lights up when he hits it perfectly, beautifully, and then moves right into the next thing. Derek is trying to keep the grin off his face when he hears his name.

“Derek?” Scott’s expression is one of both confusion and suspicion. “What are you doing?”

Derek face drops in surprise, and his face immediately reverts to his usual scowl. He brushes past Scott without even answering, his shoulder bumping against his aggressively, and walks away as fast as he can without looking like he’s fleeing the scene of the crime.

**

Scott watches Derek go, still completely confused as to what he was doing there in the first place. No matter what excuses Derek gives, there’s no question that he was watching Stiles. Scott knows; he spent at least ten minutes waiting for Derek to either make some mean insult or continue on his way to wherever he was going after baseball practice, but it never happens. Derek, for whatever reason, is watching Stiles skate, and there is definitely something slightly happier than his usual frown on his face. Scott shakes his head, drops his board, and skates towards Stiles.

Stiles notices Scott when he’s a within a few feet of him and immediately pulls out his ear buds. “Hey, dude. What’s up?” Stiles grins in welcome and pauses on his board. “Man, I love this place. I’ve been here for like, hours. I think I finally perfected that—”

“Did you know that Derek Hale was watching you?” Scott interrupts.

Stiles gapes at him, glad that his exertion is likely hiding the blush that is heating up his face. Not even Scott knows his crush, if he can even call it that (he can; it’s totally a crush). “What are you talking about? I’ve just been messing around here. There wasn’t anyone else around.”

Scott shakes his head and then looks back to where he saw Derek originally. “No, he was right over there. He was definitely watching you. Who knows how long he was there, but I was behind him for, like, ages just waiting for him to leave or say something. Totally weird.”

Stiles looks over to the pillar that Scott points out and stares, trying to figure out how to react to this news. “I don’t get what you mean. Are you sure he was watching? Maybe he was just, I don’t know, stopping on his way home or something. His house is right past here.”

Scott gives Stiles a look. “How do you know where he lives? Dude, it’s weird, the things you know. But anyway, he wasn’t going anywhere. He was just standing there, not even doing that eyebrow thing he usually does. He didn’t even notice me until I said his name, and then he just shoved me out of the way like he normally does and stalked off.” Scott shrugs and then drops his board to start skating. “No clue, man, but you should watch out. He’s weird and mean.”

Stiles grips his board, tapping his fingers in contemplation. He wants to think it means something, but in reality he knows that, whatever it is, it’s not what he wants it to be. He shakes the thoughts from his mind and then rolls over to catch up with Scott.

**

It’s not until Derek is home, in his room alone, that he allows himself to breathe. It was stupid, completely stupid, to let his guard down enough to be caught by Scott, Scott McCall of all people, the one person who would totally tell Stiles that he was watching. He falls headfirst into bed and groans into his pillow. Clearly, happy things are beyond his reach, and he is going to have to do his best to ignore Scott and Stiles and basically everyone else to make sure he doesn’t blush when he goes to school tomorrow. His ears, his fucking ears—they always give him away. He whips off his shirt, throws his pants on the floor, and burrows in his blankets. Even though Scott ruined it at the end, he still has that solid hour or so of pure Stiles on his skateboard. He focuses on that image and calms himself, holds that image close and pretends that everything else is okay. And if he imagines Stiles’ hands on him, gripping him tight and breathing into his space with a flushed face, well, that’s okay, too.

  
**

At school the next day, Stiles watches as Derek enters the classroom with his usual blank expression, flocked by the usual jocks who walk with him but oddly don’t interact much with him. He catches his eye and gives a little smile, not quite brave enough to do more than that. Derek only glares harder, his eyebrows deeply furrowed and his mouth tightly shut. As he walks to his desk, Stiles notices that Derek’s ears are turning red, the only sign that maybe, just maybe, the glare is masking something else. Stiles swallows a grin and decides that he might just visit that garage again, just in case.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was meant to be just a small tumblr ficlet, but I felt the urge to give it more closure. So have another chapter of Stiles and Derek crushing on each other.

Ch. 2

Stiles returns to the abandoned garage the next day. And the next. And the next. He even forgoes his headphones—maybe he’s missed Derek because he couldn’t hear anything above his music. By the end of the week, he’s convinced that Scott was hallucinating or that Derek wasn’t actually watching but just passing by. He’d almost, sort of, allowed himself to hope, but clearly he shouldn’t have bothered. There is absolutely no reason why Derek Hale would stop and look at Stiles Stilinski. Derek Hale, All-American popular athlete, has nothing in common with Stiles Stilinski, skater boy with a reputation (however undeserved) for mischief (okay, slightly deserved) and cutting sarcasm.

He can’t deny that he’s moping a little. Okay, a lot. It’s just that Scott had seemed so sure of what he’d seen, and he thought he’d had a moment, however brief, with Derek. He should be used to one-sided crushes and pining from afar, but dammit—he was really hoping something, SOMETHING, would happen. Stupid, he knows.

So he’s taking it out on his board. His music is blaring, and he’s doing his best to lose himself in the comfort of the moves, the smoothness of his board. He’s not really paying attention to what he’s just doing, and that is the reason he gives for why he is currently on his back, his board skittering away in shame. He closes his eyes for a moment and checks the state of his body: head throbbing, elbow aching, pride completely blown to pieces. It’s been ages since he’s done something as stupid as wipe out when he’s not doing anything fancy; the shame of his fall is just the fucking cherry on top of his metaphorical pity sundae. He feels his face flush with embarrassment and is about to chase after his disloyal skateboard when he feels two hands on his face.

“Stiles? Stiles! Are you okay? Stiles!”

Stiles is beginning to wonder how hard he hit his head because that voice sounds like Derek Hale, and there is no way that Derek Hale is cupping his face in his hands and calling out his name with increasing urgency. He opens his eyes slowly, blinking a few times to clear out the haze, and then closes them again quickly. 

When he hears Derek say his name again, he squints through one eye and then says, “Wow, I must’ve hit my head harder than I thought.” Stiles still isn’t convinced that he’s not imagining things, but the solid hand cupping the back of his head and the gorgeous eyes that are currently staring back at him seem to say otherwise.

“I saw you fall. Are you okay? Do you need to go to the ER? How many fingers am I holding up?” Derek holds up two fingers and shakes them in front of Stiles’ face.

“Dude,” Stiles says as he bats away the fingers. “I’m fine. I just need a minute to catch my breath.” He does; the fact that it has more to do with Derek’s presence than the spill he’s just taken is irrelevant. 

Derek leans back a little, but he hovers just enough to communicate that he's not going anywhere. Stiles closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and tries to get his manic heartbeat under control. He starts to get up when Derek reaches out his hand. Grasping it hesitantly (and attempting not to memorize the feel of palm against palm), Stiles stands and lifts a hand to the back of his head. It's tender, but it's not too bad. No blood, and only the slightest bump. He's about to say so when Derek reaches out to feel the back of his head for himself. He tries not to freak out, but Derek must interpret his reaction as pain.

"I think we should go get this checked out," he says, concern all over his ridiculously attractive face.

Stiles shakes his head and wrinkles his nose. "No, not even. Seriously, I'm fine."

Derek stares at him, and Stiles can't help but falter under his gaze. It's too much, to have watched him from afar for so long and then suddenly to be confronted with Derek, in front of him, looking concerned, touching him lightly. It makes his senses go haywire.

"Look, I live right over there. At least come over and put some ice on the bump."  
Stiles bites his lip, wondering if he has somehow stumbled into an alternate universe. These things do not happen to him. And yet, Derek stands before him, offering to take care of him, inviting him to his home. He tries not to seem too giddy about the offer and ends up chewing on his lip in an attempt to suppress his smile. "Yeah, okay. Thanks, Derek. I really appreciate it."

Derek smiles in sympathy and puts his arm lightly on his shoulder to lead the way. He scoops up Stiles' skateboard as they exit the garage.

Stiles is torn, so torn. He wants to lean into Derek's touch, get near enough to find out what he smells like, what he feels like, honestly what he tastes like as well. On the other hand, he doesn't want to come off as a weirdo and Derek is going to figure out soon enough that this head injury isn't even worth a band-aid. He lets Derek take the lead and decides to savor whatever nearness happens to occur in the brief walk to Derek's house (which Stiles absolutely does not already know how to get to, nope).

Derek heads to the kitchen and quickly gets a bag of ice together before motioning to Stiles to follow him up the stairs. Stiles tries to shake off the shock when he realizes that he's following Derek to his room. He pinches himself as he walks up the stairs and tells himself that if he's in a dream, he's allowed to stare at Derek's ass without shame—and that if it's reality, he better take the chance because another opportunity to ogle might never come along. 

Derek has Stiles sit on his bed and then hands him the bag of ice, like it's no big deal to have someone in his room, on his bed, in his house. Jesus. Stiles places the ice pack on the back of his head and takes a moment to look around. 

Derek seems nervous, sitting at his desk and then getting up to lean against the window sill before finally grabbing his backpack and taking out his stuff to place on his desk. Stiles can't imagine a reason for nervousness, so he assumes he's breaking up Derek’s routine. He clears his throat. "I think I'll be fine. Thanks for--”

"What? No," Derek says abruptly, turning to Stiles and making him put the ice back on his head. "You should keep that on there longer. I know you don't think it's anything big, but you landed pretty hard. And you still seem a little out of it. Unless you have somewhere you need to be?"

Stiles shakes his head and allows himself to relax a little and look around more thoroughly. He notices a toy skateboard on Derek’s night stand and starts to fiddle with it while holding the ice pack to the back of his head. He’s pretty sure the ice is unnecessary—he’s hit his head enough times to know that this is nothing—but he’s not going to cut their time short. “I didn’t know you were into skateboards,” he says. It’s true; he knows everything about Derek and his obsession with baseball but has no idea why Derek would have a toy skateboard.

Derek chuckles nervously. “Actually, I’ve always really liked skateboarding. I’m always amazed at what people can do with a board on wheels. But when I was younger, I asked my mom if I could learn to skate. She basically laughed in my face and told me to stick to baseball.”

“Ouch,” Stiles says in sympathy. He briefly imagines Derek cheering him on at local tournaments when Derek speaks again.

“Yeah, ouch. Laura bought me that as a joke, told me that was the closest thing I’d ever have to owning a skateboard.”

“Wow, ouch again.”

“Well, my family’s not really known for being sweet. Anyway, it’s no big. It’s not like I don’t love baseball so I probably wouldn’t have had time to learn anyway.”

“I could teach you, if you want,” Stiles says, hoping he sounds nonchalant. This is it, the moment where they make eye contact and smile, the starting point of hours of lessons that are really just an excuse to spend time together, a perfect cover-up to—

“Nah, that’s okay. I’d probably fall on my face anyway.”

And just like that, the sappy rom-com moment disappears, and Stiles is left with the remains of a rejected offer. He tries to keep the grimace off his face, but it ends up not even mattering because Derek isn’t looking at him anyway. He feels the humiliation surging up again, but he refuses to let it overtake him. Derek has been nothing but nice to him, making sure he hadn’t seriously hurt himself, but that just proves he’s a nice guy, not that he’s interested. Of course, that niceness is one of the reasons Stiles is crushing so hard, but there it is. He’s not going to wallow in self-pity; he did that earlier today, and look where it got him. Granted, it got him in Derek’s room—but as an injured idiot rather than a potential interest. He grits his teeth and forces himself to stand.

“Okay, I better get going. Thanks for checking up on me and all.” Stiles reaches down to sling his backpack on. At his movement, Derek jolts forward in surprise. Stiles is so distracted by the suddenness of his action that he doesn’t watch his feet and trips over his fucking traitorous skateboard. He’s about to fall on his face again when Derek grabs his arm to keep him from face-planting. Of course, Stiles doesn’t just gracefully recover but flails his arms in an attempt to regain his balance—and ends up smacking Derek square in the face. Derek lets him go to grab his nose, and Stiles ends up throwing himself on the bed to avoid any further mishaps. 

Derek sinks to the bed next to him, his eyes closed in pain and his fingers pressing against the redness on his face. Stiles sits up and hovers his hands over Derek’s, wanting to help but not sure how. “Oh my god. Oh my god, I am so sorry. Jesus, does it hurt? It’s not broken, is it? Here, take my ice pack.” He grabs the ice pack and places it gently on Derek’s face. “God, I cannot believe—I am so, so sorry.” 

Derek holds the ice in place for a moment before pulling it back and blinking a few times. His eyes water a little, but the immediate pain has already begun to dissipate. He wiggles his nose and sniffs a few times. 

“No, put the ice back on. That should help, right?” Stiles grabs the hand holding the ice and places it back on Derek’s face, too mortified to realize that he’s holding Derek’s hand. 

Derek, however, is aware. The warmth of Stiles’ hand is almost enough to chase away the chill from the ice pack. He slowly lowers his hand, careful to keep Stiles’ hand in place and tries to smile. “It’s okay. I think it was the shock more than anything else.”

“Are you sure?” Stiles hovers his other hand over Derek’s face, not quite courageous enough to touch but unable to pull back. “What can I do?

Derek looks at Stiles briefly before lowering his eyes and saying quietly, “I mean, you could kiss it better.”

Stiles freezes at the words and then narrows his eyes suspiciously. He’s about to make some snarky comment, his defenses up immediately, but just as he’s about to open his mouth, he notices the redness in Derek’s ears. Derek, eventually, meets his gaze and attempts to look like he’s issued some kind of challenge, but his eyes flit around too much to be effective. Stiles leans in, figuring if it’s a joke then he can at least win at chicken; Derek just gulps visibly and lets his eyes flick down to Stiles’ lips. So. Stiles keeps his eyes open as he slowly inches forward, watching for any change in Derek’s demeanor, any hint of a prank, but Derek’s eyes just flutter closed. It’s that movement of Derek’s lashes that finally convince Stiles that this is real. His heart speeds up even more, and he licks his lips one last time before finally placing a gentle kiss on Derek’s nose. When Derek doesn’t respond right away, he decides to place another kiss right in that space between his cheekbone and his nose bridge. And then another to the left of his nose, closer to his lips. He’s about to try for his chin when Derek turns his head slightly and brushes their lips together. 

When their lips touch, sliding against each other in that lovely, hesitating way, Stiles finally lets his eyes close. He hopes that Derek can’t feel him trembling, but something tells him they might be equal in their nervousness. It’s such a minor press of skin against skin, but it’s so thrilling. And then when Stiles opens his mouth, when Derek breathes him in, when their tongues finally find each other, the moment is electrifying. They move closer, hands finding skin and thighs clenching in anticipation. 

Stiles loves the way Derek tastes, finds it fascinating what makes Derek’s breath hitch and his fingers curl. He wants to spend hours, learning all the little things that Derek likes. 

Derek wants to touch every inch of Stiles’ skin, chase the flush down his neck with his tongue. He loves every whimper and every moan, all the bitten off curses and mindless words that come streaming out of his mouth when it’s not otherwise occupied. He loves that Stiles can make him smile even when he’s not trying.

Somehow the ice pack gets jostled on the bed and ends up making Stiles shriek when the cold touches the skin where his shirt has ridden up. It breaks the intensity of the moment, both of them laughing and even while breathing heavily. Derek gets up to throw away the pack, not wanting a puddle of water to greet him later, and then sits again, hoping the moment isn’t completely lost. He tries not to beam when Stiles takes his hand, and they spend a few moments in silence, hearts pounding in the newness of their connection.

“So, I have a confession to make,” Derek says as he idly caresses Stiles’ hand with his thumb. 

“Let me guess, you’ve been in stalking me in that garage for weeks?” Stiles asks, peering forward so that he can look at Derek in the face. He smiles when he sees Derek start to blush and feels his own face reddening in response.

Derek drops his head in mortification. “I knew Scott was going to tell you. I don’t know why I thought he’d keep it to himself.”

“Aw, you’re so adorable,” Stiles says, cuddling into Derek as he tries to hide his face in his hands. “Don’t be like that. Look, I have a confession, too.”

Derek peeks up, his eyebrows furrowed. “What confession? You—you don’t have to pretend. It’s not a contest.”

Stiles takes a deep breath. Despite having made out with Derek, thus proving their mutual attraction, he’s still a little insecure. “Okay. I am a huge baseball fan. And it is possible that I have been to all your games.”

Derek gapes at him for a moment before shaking his head again. “No, that’s not possible. I would’ve seen you. I would’ve noticed.”

“No, you really wouldn’t have. I made a point of not being seen. Sometimes I’d just skate around in the parking lot while the game was on. You can actually see a lot from there.” Stiles feels himself flush with embarrassment but refuses to hide his face. “So, if you’re worried about feeling like a stalker, don’t. You’re in good company.”

Derek huffs, a small grin forming on his face. “I guess we deserve each other, then,” he says, bumping their shoulders while taking Stiles’ hand in his once more.

“I guess we do,” Stiles says, his face bright as he leans forward for a gentle kiss. “I’m oddly okay with that.”

“Me, too,” Derek says quietly before he caresses his cheek and kisses him again. And again. And again.

\-- 

At school the next day, Stiles watches as Derek enters the classroom with his usual blank expression, again flocked by the usual jocks. He catches his eye and gives Derek a little smile, not quite ready to attract more attention to the shift in their relationship. As he walks to his desk, Derek’s ears turn red, and Stiles can’t help but smile to himself, knowing it’s his fault. Across the room, with red ears and watchful eyes on Stiles’ reddening cheeks, Derek smiles as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed skater!stiles as much as I did. I'm [fauvistfly](http://fauvistfly.tumblr.com) on tumblr--come say hi!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Come visit me on tumblr: [fauvistfly](http://fauvistfly.tumblr.com)


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